To Rise From The Ashes
by Lucullus
Summary: An unexpected incident could completely change the course of history. What if, by accident, a young Harry kills his cousin Dudley? This would prove to change his life forever. An AU take with Harry in Durmstrang. Eventual Independent!Harry and Dark!Harry
1. Chapter 1

_Path to Darkness_

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**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and everything associated with it belongs to JK Rowling. No profit is being made of this work.

**A/N**: What do you know? I decided to stat writing another story. "The Rise & Fall of Harry Potter" is not going the way I want it. After reading Chapters 4 and 5, I agree that the reviewer I criticized had a point- I myself, the author, nearly fell asleep reading it. Now I know how bad it is. But to those who enjoyed it, fret not, its not abandoned.

This plot for this story has a same end as TRFHP- it will be Dark!Harry. With regards to whether this will be an Evil!Harry like in TRFHP, I'm not sure. I will decide that when the time comes. Also, I'm opting for less description and the likes, which I felt slowed the pace of TRFHP and made it quite boring.

The idea to write this came after I realized just how similar Harry and one Tom Marvolo Riddle are.

**Complete Summary**: Tom Marvolo Riddle had suffered during his childhood. Guess where that led him? What if Harry was not so tolerant of his relatives; what if Harry made a mistake when he was younger; a mistake which would invariably set the path he would walk in future? What if the path had been one attempted by Tom Riddle before? Harry might not have turned out the iconic Golden Boy he is now. He may be something far more darker. Eventual Dark!Harry and Independent!Harry.

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**Chapter One: Murderer**

The world itself seemed to be devoid of pity, watching on emotionlessly even as a young skinny boy lay squat on the grass, made soggy by the heavy downpour an hour ago. He rubbed off the grimy mud caked on his knees, and blew off any remaining remnants of grass on his arms. Nothing, however, could be done about the distinctive bruises hidden by the dimness, courtesy of one Dudley Dursley and his gang.

The world was never fair, but still, the ten-year old felt that he should not always be the one getting all the tough breaks. The boy's life was nothing more than a series of misfortune- his parents were supposedly useless alcoholics and bums who got killed in an automobile accident after getting their silly selves drunk, leaving him to be carted off to his relatives.

Relatives…? The kid chortled to himself, his high, sinister peals of laughter contrasting against the total silence of the park. They were no relatives of his! He was only a servant to them, as well as a punching bag to his cousin Dudley and his little playmates.

But he promised to show them one day. He was Harry Potter, and he will rise from the ashes, and teach those who despised him a lesson. He would make a name for himself, and would never allow himself to be looked down upon. He was Harry Potter, a name to be greatly respected one day.

It's just too bad Harry had to be tolerant for now. Every punch from Dudley or Piers, while the older kids or even adults watched on and jeered, every backbreaking chore he was ordered to perform, threatened to shatter his resolve. Harry did not really know what would happen if that occurred, only it would be related to one of his many daydreams.

_What would I give to see dear Duddikins aflame, squealing like the pig that he is? Oh, I could already imagine it, all those combustible fats in him making the ideal explosion. A fireball it will be._

Indulging in these daydreams, or should it be night-dreams now, seeing as the sun has set hours ago, was a rather frequent pastime of his.

The 'conducive' environment was soon broken by a cacophony of footsteps, slowly trudging in the dust, and the loud voices of, no points for guessing, his dearest cousin and his clique.

"Well, well, well, look which skunk has contaminated our path tonight?" The voice was high-pitched, with a hard edge, though it sounded more like a girl's squeal. Still, it garnered responses of laughter from the four other boys.

One of them, whom Harry recognized as Piers Polkiss, slouched over, his huge frame struggling with the effort, ape-like face grunting from the effort, though Harry suspected he had only a quarter of the creature's intelligence.

The ape stopped in front of him, sniffing the air, "You are right as always, Dud, there is a stench around him", giving Harry a little kick.

_Tolerate, I must tolerate._

"What would you know, you overgrown buffoon?" Harry was not about to stand for their crap again. A boy has to have his pride.

Dudley strutted over; okay, strutted as best as his whale-like frame could, while clutching his heart in mock shock. "Good heavens! The freak has learnt to talk back! Where did you learn it from, freak? It cannot be from us- we only taught you," here he started to wriggle his fingers, as though pretending to count, "to serve, to be my punch-bag, to lick the mud off my shoes, to be the neighborhood idiot…Hmm what else", he said to raucous laughter.

Another boy, face full of freckles, stepped forward, kicking some mud at Harry. "How should we punish him, Dursley? I myself would like to give him a treat." Here he picked up a thick wooden branch.

"Oh no, no no no. We can't have that, Gordon. He's _my_ little freak; not for you guys to kick and punch. That's right, say 'Thank you, Big D' to me freak! At the same time kiss the mud of my shoes. I think they are a little dirty. We will decide how to punish you for your insolence next."

This elicited a small growl from Harry, who was starting to rise, but it was drowned out by the others' voices.

"Maybe we should have the freak wash out his mouth" at this another boy, whom Harry thought was called Malcolm pointed to a small puddle nearby, "That will teach him to respect his betters."

Dudders had a truly wicked smile on his face as he contemplated this idea. He slowly strode over, bending down to Harry's height. Raising a flabby arm, he grabbed the weaker boy's jaw, giving him a few insulting slaps, with the other, preparing to drag Harry over to the puddle.

It was at this point where his rage had boiled over; it could not be held back any longer. It was as strong as a swollen river prepared to burst it's banks, as uncontrollable as a raging firestorm. While Dudley was oblivious to the happenings, the other boys had noticed Harry's outstretched clenched fist glowing lightly in the dark, as his desire to throttle his cousin, wring his neck till it snapped, threatened to take over his mind.

On the other hand, Harry, who was so caught up in his anger and hatred, did not notice Dudley falling to his knees, hands holding his neck, looking as if he was trying to free himself from an imaginary attacker. Some of the others were starting to panic, bursting into tear-filled wails. Harry's cousin had been lying sprawled on the muddy ground, his face an odd shade of blue, eyes bulging frantically as though trying for a last attempt at survival, before a loud 'Snap' echoed through the distance, his neck falling limply to the side.

It was then that Harry 'woke up' to the chaos that had occurred. He stared at his hands in disbelief, looking over to the now still Dudley.

_Oh gods… I have killed him… I have killed my cousin, great heavens above!_

Harry watched as the other boys started to flee, with Piers in the lead, crying out 'Murderer!' as they disappeared into the distance. Harry did not know how long he sat there, staring at his cousin's corpse.

_What am I going to do! If I am caught, I will, I will at the very least be sent to jail! Uncle Vernon will make sure of that. I cannot be caught, no, I must run. Yes! I must run. Now!_

For some unknown reason, Harry did not feel any guilt about killing his cousin. He did not feel any emotion even as he stepped on Dudley's corpse, dead as a doornail. All he knew and felt was the urge and importance of running away. To where, he did not know. Just that he had to flee immediately before the cops came.

So he ran, his feet kicking up dirt as he passed trees after trees in a flurry. He had barely covered a yard before hearing several loud 'Cracks', making him jump up in shock. His already frayed nerves and senses, heightened by fear, was about to send him into sensory overload.

_What was that?_

Moments later, there came behind him a tremendous roar of "_STUPEFY!" _from what Harry assumed had to be the police, he turned around only to be greeted by a hail, no, an avalanche of crimson jets of light. His eyes widened as his brain registered what the eyes had seen. His body also seemed to have frozen, leaving him unable to duck, which was just as well, as there was no way he could avoid such a barrage.

One of the red flashes of light striking him was the last thing he noticed, before his world went peacefully black.

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Dudley dies, and the crap has hit the roof for Harry. The lad's now wanted by the Muggle police, as well as the Magical Law Enforcement patrol (who had caught him). Want to find out what happens next? Easy enough, just **review**! The more the reviews, the faster the updates. 

This will NOT be a Harry-in-Azkaban story.

All suggestions or queries, or even constructive flames, are also welcomed. Once again, please **review**.

Lucullus


	2. Chapter 2

_Rising From The Ashes_

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**Disclaimer**: The Harry Potter series and every associated to it belongs to JK Rowling. No profit is being made from this either.

**A/N**: Thanks to my first two reviewers! Harry is ten going on eleven, to answer Mystical Witch's question.

I have changed the title and summary, to what I think is more suitable.

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**Chapter Two: Exile**

"You cannot be serious, Cornelius?" the aghast old wizard asked, watching as his companion, a portly man clad in lime-green robes with a matching bowler hat, paced up and down, wringing his hands.

"By Merlin! Harry Potter, _the_ Harry Potter, killing his cousin? It doesn't seem possible. How could, Merlin's beard, how could it be? We have no choice but to proceed with the ruling." the man known as Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, all but whined.

Albus Dumbledore sighed on his seat in the Minister's Office. Cornelius had a point, how could Harry have possibly garnered so much hatred for his cousin that he accidentally killed him with an outburst? He had never, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot for sixty-nine years, experienced such a case. Dumbledore had been talking to the boy an hour ago.He was so unfailingly polite and subservient; it pained his heart to see Harry actually waiting for him to give an order. Dumbledore was initially shocked upon seeing just how similar Harry looked like James. The only difference being the angelic-looking boy inherited his mother's emerald eyes, and that he was not stricken with the long-standing Potter curse. He had also received his mother's perfect eyesight, as it would seem.

Looking over the boy's physical condition and his attitude, there was no doubt to Albus on how Harry was raised. He knew he should never have left Harry with the Dursleys. It was probably one of the biggest mistakes on his part. "But still, Cornelius, exile? Harry is just a child, for Merlin's sake. How can you even consider it? It was purely an accident- his cousin had provoked him."

Dumbledore had explained roughly the workings of the Wizarding world to Harry. As far as he could tell, the boy had suffered a rude shock, being thrust into this world in a blink of an eye. Albus had left the room to delirious mutterings of "_Wizarding? Magic? Hogwarts?_ _Oh gods, either I am hallucinating or I have finally gone insane_."

"It's, it's just a temporary measure for the boy. Can you imagine how the public will react upon hearing their symbol, their very symbol of light a murderer? They will turn upon the boy and demand a prosecution. Face it Dumbledore, if you remember, the last underage child who had committed murder, Liam Falkins was sentenced to a probationary cell in Azkaban! We cannot, of course, possibly throw _Harry Potter_, the Boy-Who-Lived, into that place. A temporary exile is the best solution." Fudge was scratching his head, having taken off his hat.

"And don't think the matter can be covered up. I have tried it, Dumbledore," the bumbling Minister reminded him, "At least twenty patrol members had been on the scene. We would never be able to keep this under wraps. I'd say give it a day, Skeeter would have the boy's head on the Prophet by then."

To be fair, Albus had expected to be able to get Harry off the hook- A body scan of the boy had revealed slight abuse, probably by his cousin, and officials had discovered Dursley and a group of friends had cornered Harry last night. Also, the Minister himself had always fawned on Harry vocally, saying "He is like a son of mine". Too bad the Minister's view of public opinion was seriously beginning to cloud his judgement. It was a real bombshell for Dumbledore when Fudge had told him that Harry's punishment had been decided by a jury in a closed trial, with said punishment being banishment from the British Isles for 3 years, which in the Minister's view was long enough for the expected public outcry to die down. But he had to persist; he would not allow Harry to leave Britain without any kith or kin, not if he could help it.

"This is insanity, Cornelius, and you know it. Imagine a ten-year old boy, all alone with no overseas relations. How in Godric's name do you expect him to survive?"

"Don't be silly, Dumbledore, of course it has all been arranged. The boy is nearing eleven; he will be ready to start schooling soon. I have already contacted Igor. Durmstrang is willing to accept Harry," the Minister said, face starting to go red, "Now, now, see here Dumbledore. I do not want you making trouble. Do not forget your place. I am the Minister, not you. You do not have the power to override a ministry ruling," Here he seemed to drop his furious expression, "Do you think I want the boy exiled? I would not do this if I had another option."

Dumbledore turned just in time to see the door opening and Harry being escorted in by a couple of Ministry aides, one of which called out, "Minister, Professor Karkaroff is here."

"Excellent. Is he in the Atrium? Oh, invite him in now." The Minister yelped jovially.

"I beseech you to rethink your decision, Cornelius. Durmstrang is simply not a suitable place for young Harry to be, along with him having no relations in Bulgaria." Dumbledore was reaching the end of his line. Harry looked on with curiosity, unaware of his impending fate.

The door opened again, this time a tall man dressed in richly embroidered silver robes along with a thick fur overcoat, and sporting a neatly trimmed goatee entered.

"Good day, Minizter Fudge. And Dumbledore too; I'm muz zay I am zurprised to zee you here," Karkaroff then spotted Harry, who had been trying his best to look inconspicuous in this unfamiliar world. "Harry Potter… I have heard much about your…exploits."

"Welcome, Professor Kakaroff, welcome," Fudge practically pranced about, looking like a kid in a candy store, "Oh this is just too good. Take a seat, take a seat."

Harry meanwhile, seated on a small wooden-backed chair at the rear of the room, stared at the new arrival. What had this man, Kakalof or something, meant by exploits? Had news of his crime spread throughout Europe so fast? And what had the other two men, one he knew as Dumbledore, and the other he thought was called Corny-something, been talking about? What did exile meant? Harry was seriously starting to feel confused here. He liked the older wizard with the white beard well enough however. The mere presence of Dumbledore seemed to reassure Harry that he was in good hands, in this strange new world of magic and witchcraft.

Harry watched as Dumbledore opened his mouth, looking as if he wanted to protest at something, before shutting it. It was the newcomer who eventually broke the silence.

"Zo, Minizter, am I right in zaying that you want Mizter Potter here enrolled in Durmstrang for 3 years, with dezision to continue after that to be made by the boy himself?"

The Minister rubbed his hands together in glee, "Ah yes, yes, of course. Enrolment fees will be settled by the Gringotts branch in Bulgaria. I will give him the key to his trust fund now. Gringotts will hold the other one to the Potter Family Vault till Mr. Potter here comes of age." Under his breath, Harry could hear Corny softly muttering, "_Finally settled_".

"Now Cornelius, look here-"

"Dumbledore, it vould be vise if you do not poke your noze into matters that conzern you not." It must have been his imagination, or Professor Kakaroff seemed to be staring at his counterpart in contempt. "Zeeing as you haff settled the boy's custodial matters here, I vill take him now. Ve need to leave for Sofia now. There are things to purchase and matters to be explained."

_Take me? Take me where? I don't think I want to leave. No, I do not want to leave Britain!_

Harry finally spoke up, albeit in a timid voice, "Where am I going, Professor Dumbledore?"

"Do not worry, Harry. You are going nowhere-", the wise-looking wizard had started to speak, but was once again cut off by Fudge. "Oh, shut up Dumbledore," Fudge now cleared his throat, before speaking in a pompous tone, "Mr. Potter, you have been found guilty of your charge- the murder of one Dudley Vernon Dursley. Taking into consideration your age, the punishment will be 3 years of banishment from the Britain and the British Isles. You are not to set foot into these lands before that period is up."

"As a show of goodwill by the Ministry of Magic, we have arranged for you to live in Bulgaria, enrolling in Durmstrang Institute of Magic to ensure that you do not suffer any lapses in your magical education. Professor Igor Kakaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang, will be your temporary guardian, until a suitable one could be found in the capital. You will stay at the Durmstrang hostels until that happens. Do you have any queries?"

_Durmstrang? What is he talking about? I am being banished? Wait! I don't want to go to Bulgaria!_

Panic began to set in. He had no idea he would be banished out of Britain. What on earth was he to do in, where, Bulgaria? He would sure he would not be able to survive in an alien country which he did not even know where it was located. Harry could not believe this was happening to him.

"Professor Dumbledore, I am sorry. I swear, it was an accident! I did not mean to kill Dudley. Please, you must believe me!"

Looking at the unfeeling stares of Fudge, and the remorseful sigh of Dumbledore, he started to get more frantic. "Professor! Please help me! I really didn't mean it!" He all but shouted.

Kakaroff looked on nonplussed, striding towards Harry and grabbing hold of his hands, and leading him towards a rustic homely-looking fireplace which did nothing to alleviate his turmoil. "I vill take him from here."

Kakaroff took a bit of some crystalline greenish powder from a small ornate bag, and threw it into the fire. A large green flame erupted with a 'Roar', slightly shocking Harry. Was he supposed to step in?

"Plovdiv Alley, Sofia." With that he all but pushed Harry into the fireplace.

Harry thus left Britain, but not without a last tear-filled angry stare at the two initial occupants of the room.

Cornelius Fudge now spun towards the Hogwarts Headmaster, eyes blazing angrily. His face was all puffy and red, as though he had trouble breathing. "What are you trying to do, embarrassing me like that? I will have, you know, Dumbledore, that I _am_ the Minister. You have meddled too much in Ministry affairs. I will not allow this to continue! It would be in your best interests, to recall that the people voted _me_ as Minister for Magic. You are but a mere Headmaster. Now get lost!"

Dumbledore sighed once again, before striding out of the office. He would have to find a way to help the boy. Yes, no doubt about that. Maybe it was time to start sifting through his Bulgarian contacts.

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So I present an exiled Harry! Next chapter would be about Harry preparing to start his first year at Durmstrang. Sorry for the remarkably short and pretty much filler chapter, but I had to establish what happened after the wizards got hold of Harry. So **review!** More reviews, faster updates. 

How did I do the accent? I have no idea what Bulgarian accents are like.


	3. Chapter 3

_To Rise From The Ashes_

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**Disclaimer**: The Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling. I own nothing at all.

**A/N**: Thanks for the reviews, guys! Title slightly changed yet again. I felt the previous was too similar to another story I've read.

**Shadowed Rains:** Other exiled!Harry stories? I've read Jyrnn's "Wisdom From The Dark", which is where I got the inspiration to write this from. Too bad it is abandoned just when Harry reaches Durmstrang. You might also want to hope over to Schnoogle (FictionAlley) and check out Hannah Marder's "The French Correction". It's a fifth year AU (which runs parallel to OOTP) where Harry is expelled at his hearing and goes to Beauxbatons. Excellent writing, and it's still a WiP!

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**Chapter Three: Unfamiliar**

It was a horror- a real horror well and true. When Harry was pushed into the plumes of the dark green flames, he'd half-expected himself to suffer some burns. What he got was far more horrifying to him. It felt as though someone had tossed him into the middle of a tempest, or a whirlwind.

All he could tell was him sliding down an imaginary pipe which twisted and turned in all directions, at breakneck speeds. During that 'ride' which could hardly count for one, he swore he passed a large number of other fireplaces, all with ordinary flames crackling. It had been what seemed like an hour or so before he suddenly plunged out of another dusty fireplace, flying through the air and landing most ungracefully.

Harry wondered what other methods of transportation wizards possessed, before feeling a tad depressed- He had been kept away from his rightful world, a world where _he_, Harry James Potter really belonged. No matter what the reasons, Harry felt that he should have been raised by a Wizarding family. Furthermore, this was a world where _he_ was respected and adored by the millions, where any teenage girl would willingly slave for him just to get an autograph. This was where he belonged, not the Muggle world he was despised and humiliated.

Another thing that bothered him was the fact that he was a half-blood. Dumbledore had told him how purebloods despised the others, and that he should learn to tolerate them in general, but that did not keep him from feeling ashamed of his heritage. He _should_ have been a pureblood, as was his father. Even after knowing the truth about his parents, Harry could not help but feel a little resentment towards his mother, Lily Evans, for being part of the less desirable stock.

The knowledge of being a half-blood made him feel incomplete- like he did not truly belong in either the Muggle or the Wizarding world. Harry sorely wished that he could get rid of the Muggle blood flowing in his veins, which, in his opinion were remnants of his links to horrible _creatures_, otherwise known as Dursleys.

For the first time, Harry stared up at his surroundings. He was in a rather quaint looking pub, with only about four or five occupants, sitting on high hard-backed wooden stools while clutching their fur-coats tight, huddling over steaming mugs. Harry was soon joined by an irate-looking Kakaroff, who dusted his expensive robes, muttering about the state of the Floo system.

He turned to step out of the pub, before looking back and remembering about Harry. "Vellcome to Bulgaria, Mr. Potter. Ve are currently in Sofia, ze capital, and this is Plovdiv Alley, ze heart of Vizarding East Europe, and ze fourth largest Magical district in ze vorld." Harry's first impressions of the man hadn't been too good, but at least Kakaroff knew to familiarize him with this new world, instead of plunging him through everything. He silently approved.

"I haff been told you vill start your first year at Durmstrang next month," at the mention of 'Durmstrang', his voice had taken a proud tone, "Ve thus haff things to purchase, as vell as to explain ze school guidelines-"

"Igor!" A rather plump looking man of medium height burst into the pub, his mop of unruly honey-brown hair, not unlike Harry's, were flecked with snowflakes. He had started to converse with Kakaroff rapidly in an indiscernible language that Harry can only assume was Bulgarian.

_This man looks much friendlier than that Kakaroff._

Kakaroff now had a solemn expression on his face. "Harry, I haff to rush back to Durmstrang for a meeting with ze Board of Govenors, I vill leave you with Obronski," Kakaroff bent down to Harry's height, "Listen to him, he vill offer you much advice. You vill be brought to ze hostels tonight." The Headmaster furrowed his eyebrows in concentration for a moment, then disappearing in the next instant with an almighty 'Crack!'

It did not really bother Harry, who was drawn to the kindly look than the newcomer had on his face. The newcomer extended a gloved hand, which presumably, was to protect against the cold. "My name is Alejandro Obronski, though you can simply call me Professor. I am the Deputy Headmaster at Durmstrang," at the sound of the school, Harry's face fell even further, again reminded of how he was to spend three years in a strange land. The Professor had noticed it, "Do not look so upset, you will find that it is quite easy to adapt to life at Durmstrang. There are students of various nationalities in our school, from East European to German and some British too. Come out, come out, it is much cooler outside", he gestured towards the exit and leading Harry out of the tiny pub.

Stepping out into the Bulgarian winter, Harry momentarily lost his gloom and nervousness, a smile threatening to show on his face as he watched dumbstruck at the numerous crystals of pure ice falling like a curtain all around, enveloping the district in a white blanket. The euphoria of his first experience of falling snow numbed his body to the cold.

Professor Obronski chuckled at the sight of Harry jumping up and down, collecting snow on his outstretched hands, before removing his coat of ox-fur and draping it over Harry's mild frame. You vill be allowed to remain at the school hostels before term starts. That vill let you familiarize yourself vith the grounds," he walked them both towards a line of stores, "But for now, ve haff much to purchase."

They first entered what was unmistakably a bookstore, what with a large glass display window adorned with books from Wizarding makeup to a weird looking sport on brooms. He could only tell as much from the pictures as he did not understand an ounce of Bulgarian at all. The interior was cozy and warm, with little chandeliers of actual flames floating in the air above. The books were neatly categorized and shelved, and there were little blue pouffes around a coffee table on which patrons could sit and browse through their prospective purchases. His Deputy Headmaster stepped out towards the counter, and chatted with the owner, a wiry man with a bookish look who then vanished towards the store's rear, presumably to get his school books.

Obronski called out to him while waiting, "Vy don't you check out some of the books. They haff in-built Translation Charms. Just saying 'English' will suffice."

Harry decided to do a little exploring, walking through the maze of newly polished shelves. A few patrons stared at him outright, pointing to his scar and conversing in angry mutters. Harry thought it would be better to stray farther from them. Wandering on, he eventually came to the farthest end of the shop, where patrons obviously did not think much off, seeing how dusty and moldy the shelves here were. He casually picked out a battered leather-bound book, coated with so thick a layer of dirt that it had obviously not been touched for years, and adorned with only an illustration of a bloodstained wand. Harry staring at it for a while, before intoning, "English", causing the book to shimmer lightly, as though there was strong heat in front of it. The unfamiliar words soon disappeared, with a readable title now appearing- '_Where True Power Really Lies_' by Andriy Dolohov.

Flipping open the thick book, he was struck by its first words, "_The greatest power of all lies in the control of life and death, the ability to breathe new life into those passed off, and to wield the hand to damn a person to eternal suffering. Since the former is not possible, we can assume that any man who has the ability to take the life of another at will regardless of their strength possess the greatest power above all. The world does not exist without change; life does not exist without death. Why not learn to hasten death for your enemies?_

The rest of the book were nothing but spells, complete with realistic looking moving pictures, that would probably only be used in war, though there are some particularly grotesque ones, such as the Entrail-Expelling Curse, which showed a man lying in a pool of ruby red, his innards splattered on the walls nearby, or the Mutilation Curse, in which a _very_ graphic picture showed a thin long arc of light, looking nothing more than a glowing thread, searing through the air and wrapping around a victim, who the next second fell over, upper torso separated from the lower, which a green-faced Harry thought he would never ever attempt. But still, despite all, there was a nagging feeling in his mind, and Harry eventually decided to purchase it after some consideration.

In the time the storeowner had taken to retrieve copies of his schoolbooks, Harry had selected another two dusty tomes, one being about Magical potential, while the other, written by one Konstantin Illiarov-Black, dealt with Blood Purity, which Harry found he was _very_ interested in.

As he was walking towards the counter, a flustered Obronski rushed to him, his gaze always dropping to his wristwatch once in a while. "Ah, there you are, Harry. Quick, it vill soon be dark. I vould have to bring you back here another day. Come on," he then took notice of the old books under Harry's arm, "Vy don't you put them together vith your schoolbooks. I vill pay for them first, and deduct the cost from your vault when ve visit it next time."

Half an hour later, the duo trudged through the snow-encrusted grounds of the Alley, carrying a stack of books, one heavy pewter cauldron, a large parcel of potion ingredients which ranged from Asphodel to Boomslang skin, all of which were charmed to weigh as much as a feather and shrunk to quarter of their original size. His search for a wand lasted only about a minute; Harry had quickly chosen, or rather, was chosen by a holly wand with a core of phoenix tail feather, which unusually enough was one of the maker, Gregorovitch's foreign imports due to a dwindling of his personal stocks.

The cold, refreshing environment, coupled with a hours of rushing around, which had earlier prevented him from dwelling on his banishment now faded away. It has probably only been three hours, and here he was, already beginning to feel homesick. He missed Britain, he missed Privet Drive- with it's small but comforting park, picturesque lake despite the people. Loneliness and unfamiliarity is a bad combination, and Harry suddenly wished he was back at the Dursleys, even if they do treat him like a mule. How could he possibly last three years feeling like this? Out of curiosity, and mainly to take his mind of such depressing matters, he stopped his soon-to-be Deputy Headmaster, silently enquiring, "Just where is Durmstrang, Professor, and how are we getting there?"

The Professor stared at him for a moment, as though he could tell what was really on Harry's mind, before kneeling down to his height, and pointing at the distant stretch of white-capped mountains, basked by the reddish-orange glow of a setting sun. Even he had to hold back his breath, as his mind registered the full extent of nature's beauty. "Do you see those mountains? Durmstrang is located on the summit of one of them. We vill reach the school by, vat is the Muggle equivalent- ah, _cable-car_," then dropping his tone to a softer and more reassuring one, pale gray eyes flashing with warmth, he continued, "You will love Durmstrang- The scenery, the environment, the freedom, zey are inimitable. Do not vorry much, you vill get along well with the students, and no one vould cause any trouble for you."

He lied. At least about his last words, as Harry would eventually find out.

* * *

I will elaborate more about Plovdiv Alley when Harry revisits, not to worry. I promise the next chapter would be longer, as it will touch on Harry and his first experience of the famous school. 

Harry's natural curiosity has seen him stumble upon the Dark Arts, and the same inquisitiveness will see him fall deeper and deeper into realms of the forbidden. Also, blood purity is a topic which Harry will regard as very important.

If you like the story and want to read more, drop a **review**, and tell me what you think about it. It can't take that long right? If you dislike it, also **review** and offer me some constructive criticism.

Usual rules, more **reviews**, faster updates.

Lucullus


	4. Chapter 4

_To Rise From The Ashes_

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**Disclaimer**: The Harry Potter series and every associated to it belongs to JK Rowling. No profit is being made from this either.

**A/N**: Wow, thanks to all my reviewers! To answer Artemis1000's question, Harry would have to learn some Bulgarian, but his inability to speak the language at first would not be a big problem, seeing as a large portion of Durmstrang's students are foreigners too (other East European states, Austria, Germany). And, do not worry, Ivan, I have not forgotten about Harry's Parselmouth abilities.

Obronski will not be a villain either. There will be a couple of people whom will have good relations with Harry, and whom he could trust. Obronski will be one of them (Making Kakaroff a caring guy would be too OOC, in my opinion). His accent is also meant to be lighter than Kakaroff's.

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**Chapter Four: Arriving**

_Do not vorry much, you vill get along well with the students, and no one vould cause any trouble for you_

Staring into the depths of his Professor's sparkling violet eyes, which like an opened door, allowed Harry to revel in the amount of sincerity and kindness present. He so desperately wanted to believe what Obronski said was true, and for a long while, he did believe it. But what made him pour out all his woes and turmoil to the older wizard, Harry did not really know. Perhaps it was due to the fact that with that man's heartwarming smile, ever-present genial expression, crystalline violet eyes that shone with a fun-loving spark and obviously haggard but still cheerful attitude reminded Harry of what he had always dreamt of- an ideal 'father' figure. Certainly, he never had one, ever since his parents, whom he had no memory of had been murdered.

The Dursleys… Harry would _never_ think of them as parental figures. They had probably resented him from the moment he was thrust upon them, and grew to treat him like a common servant, as though he was not related to them at all. Of course, not that _he_ would wish to be one of their kin. Indeed, the thought of seeing Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon as true guardians- jumping into their lap and hugging them when he had a nightmare, for instance, was enough to make him throw up for days.

Whatever it may be, all Harry knew was that words were pouring from his mouth like a river- his loneliness, his fears that he would not be able to mix well with the foreign crowd, and just plainly his longing to be back in familiar territory. The Deputy Headmaster had stopped to give him a brief hug, before staring at him plainly as though to say, "_I understand how you feel._" That the man knew exactly what he was feeling comforted him, as opposed to being a frightening possibility.

"Do not vorry about not being able to make new vriends- Ve haff gotten along very vell, no?" The two continued on with their way, towards where exactly, Harry was not sure, having some difficulty navigating through the almost shin-high snow. They made an odd pair- a middle aged man and a child walking through the heavy snow when everybody present were all either in a pub holding a mug of warm butterbeer or huddling around the Quidditch store gawking stupidly at the latest broomstick, a Volkra-95 or something.

_Honestly, a broomstick? Who would want to spend time a hundred feet in the air, when he could easily fall to his death, anyway? _

On their way, Obronski would explain of how the school workings were. There were apparently three 'Houses', with the sorting carried out by a single random question targeted at the prospective student. How he or she answers it would determine the choice of House. School rules were also informed- some of them Harry felt were downright ridiculous, like no candy should be eaten on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

Occasionally, when they passed some weird creatures among the pines that Harry had never thought exists, the Professor would point them out and offer him a detailed explanation. Harry supposed it was merely to keep the two of them from feeling bored, since they had been walking for an hour now. But still, he had to admit that some of them, the Lunadeer, for example, which looked like a doe-sized reindeer except with a white coat mottled with gray craters, had crescent antlers and appeared only when there was a full moon approaching, fascinated him.

They soon came to a stop at the sound of Obronski's cheerful voice declaring, "Here we are!" They had reached the foot of the belt of mountains. Ahead of them, in a small forest clearing was a large wooden hut. There was nothing strange or magical about it, except for the fact that joined to two poles on the roof were double strands of gold? No, to call them strands was too much of an understatement. They were both as thick as lampposts. These golden lines glowed strongly, especially in the gradually darkening sky. From both of them emitted an aura of power so strong it rolled off in waves and was actually becoming tangible with each step closer the duo took.

Even more unique was the number of carriages with rods that extended from their roofs, clinging on to the magical lines and being slowly pushed forwards by it. The carriages were huge compartments, with a generous amount of glass paneling- on the top and bottom too. Harry assumed they were to allow occupants to better enjoy to picturesque surroundings.

The glowing 'cables' held and moved the carriages, one carrying them towards the hut while the other moving them up as far as Harry could see, as it stretched towards the mountains, past snow-caps and clouds. The two 'cables' were probably joined together somewhere at both ends where he could not see them. When a carriage arrived at the hut, it stopped for about half a minute, before carrying on its way. One of them landed hovered a feet above where they were currently standing, and shook slightly, as though beckoning them to get in. Both he and the Professor stepped up, the glass doors snapping open with a _hiss_ to admit them.

Each carriage apparently had two compartments, divided by a barrier with another door. The interior of each would put any royal horse-carriage to shame. Seats, located at each side, were plushy and soft, and embroidered with generous amounts of gold and silver threads. Flanking each of the large windows were small decorative curtains made from a silky material.

_Those Durmstrang students sure know how to live it up._

Looking at Obronski, Harry could tell that he was trying his best not to nod off. "Professor, you could sleep if you want to. I will be alright myself." Said Professor rubbed his eyes wearily, before sighing dramatically, "A Professor's job is never done! So many things to prepare and do, even during the holidays."

Harry then brought up a matter he wondered why he had never asked just now. "Which subject do you teach at Durmstrang, Professor?"

"I'd thought you'd never ask. I teach the Dark Arts, not that anyone who knew me vell ever understood vy I do so." His last comment was more of a self-mumbling, and Harry did not pursue the matter. What he noticed was the Professor was now staring at his intently, as though trying to figure out how he should say something.

"Uh, Harry, I need to talk to you about some things," Obronski had a strange, self-berating and ashamed look on his face, "Let me start by congratulating you for being the first half-blood student in the history of Durmstrang. The school usually accepts only purebloods, but the Headmaster has made an exception for you. This brings me to my next point Harry," his ashamed look grew, but along with it a concerned expression, "There vill be some who may not take, uh, too kindly to your entry. They may also feel that you are inferior to them. Of course, not everyone will be like that, but I had better inform you first. Try to tolerate them, and do not give them a cause to harm you, do you understand."

He nodded, and Obronski now looked more relieved. Harry supposed that the Deputy Headmaster also believed a little in pureblood supremacy, thus his embarrassed look just now.

_Not that I could blame him, when he himself probably grew up learning all about how purebloods are superior. I myself would not want this dirty blood flowing in my veins, if I could help it._

It would seem, however, that the Deputy Headmaster had other matters to talk to him about. And judging from the way he would rub his neck, and look around, as though someone else might suddenly materialize, it was not a topic he felt comfortable to speak about. "What is it, Professor, just say it", Harry urged.

"Wh-What do you know of the Dark Lord?" _Voldemort…_ As he had expected, Obronski was bringing up the topic of his parent's murderer. Only the Dark Lord could inspire such fear in men, even when he was supposedly vanquished.

Harry had first heard about the dark wizard from Dumbledore, when the _useless_ old fool informed him the truth about his parent's death. His interest however, was piqued when he saw a picture of the Dark Lord along with a whole sub-chapter on him in the book on Magical Potential. He had to admit, Voldemort, standing tall and sinisterly proud clad in a thick black hooded cloak, which was covered with a thin layer of steel plates and chainmail, and possessing a pale hard face certainly cut an intimidating image. That, along with his blood-red eyes that were as cold and emotionless as two chips of rubies, except that both of them shone with the intensity of headlamps from a car, added to his looking like Death itself emerging from the pits of Hell. It was also evident that Voldemort's true identity was itself an enigma. The chapter waxed lyrical on the extent of his power, but in the end was made up of nothing but rumors.

Harry thought that some of them were completely silly, like for instance that the Dark Lord was actually the Heir of Salazar Slytherin, co-founder of Hogwarts. Or that Voldemort, similar to a basilisk, had been born fully grown with all his powers. _Honestly…what nonsense. _Or that his serpentine 'pet', Nagini was actually a Naga-demon sent by the Dark gods to aid him.

Some rumors Harry supposed were true, for example, until he came along, anyone the Dark Lord wanted dead would be guaranteed to hit the coffins by a month, usually a week. But rumors or not, Harry had to admit, deep within his core, he felt a slightest, tiniest bit of respect and impressiveness for the dark wizard. Anyway, Harry was drifting off the point here. He returned his concentration to the Professor, informing him of what little Dumbledore had told him.

"I see… What I vant to tell you is that the Dark Lord had numerous supporters from Bulgaria, even Durmstrang itself. During those days, it was a crisis," Obronski shut his eyes and sighed, "The country was heading towards a full-blown civil var, then _you_ came along. After the Dark Lord's defeat, the violence dipped a lot, and his supporters were less open, less volatile. But be varned, there are still many who support him- students too. Mention nothing of your past, or the Dark Lord in front of them, and keep a low profile. Can you do that?" Harry decided it was best to agree and allow his distressed Professor to relax a little.

"Thank you, Harry. I just, I just vant to prevent all these potential problems from occurring. I do not vant any trouble for the school like what happened in the past. I vill leave you in this compartment, read your schoolbooks, or take a nap, whatever you vant. If you need me, just enter my compartment."

Obronski got up, stretched his arms, and went through the door of the divisionary barrier, leaving a slightly confused Harry alone.

Looking out, the carriage had reached an altitude of only about a couple hundred feet. Perhaps it was meant to be slow moving. This would probably be a long ride, given the speed of the carriage, and that the magical lines still extended further than the eye could see. Finding nothing better to do, he un-shrunk the bag of school books and poured out the contents. He decided to just randomly browse through them.

Nearly an hour later, Harry got up and stretched himself. He looked out of the glass- The once majestic peaks now looked like eerie silhouettes bathed in silky darkness. Turning back to the pile of books, he wondered… if he should just take another peak at the thick black tome. His schoolbooks had been pretty boring. It was new to him, he would admit, but somehow attempting to transfigure a teapot to a cinderblock did not really interest him.

_Get a grip on yourself, Harry! The stuff in that book teaches only how to injure and kill! Killed once already, isn't it enough, boy?_

While his mind was raging in confusion, he spied the book, lying inside the bag, and could not resist the temptation. Only browsing through, he reassured himself. The spells there were harmful, yes, disgusting, yes, acceptable, no, but fascinating, most definitely; more fascinating that levitating a feather, at any rate.

The lexicon was very detailed, with life-like illustrations and even, strangely enough, advice to the reader if he or she failed to cast the curse. He browsed through all kinds of Burning Curses, including one, _Corpus Inflammare_, which seeing from the picture engulfed the victim with a globe of blue flame so hot that not even ashes of him remained. Harry supposed not all of them were deadly, reading about the Bone-Crusher Curse, which reduced a section of your victim's bones to ground dust.

Harry found the situation quite ironic, here he was surrounded by such a peaceful and tranquil environment, yet he had been reading a book which encouraged violence and death. But now, he faced a greater dilemma, after all that engrossed reading, there grew an urge within him to try one of the less harmful ones out, just to see how talented he was at magic.

He eventually settled for a Slashing Curse, and took his wand out from his robes, waving it with an 'S' movement before swiping it downwards, while muttering "_Silex Vitiosus_", only to see nothing had happened. Not even a wisp of smoke or a flash of light had been observed. Maybe he was just terrible at magic. Maybe he was nothing more, than, what was that, a squib. He reread through the steps, and after that looked at a small heading, "_Where you might have gone wrong"_. One of them caught his eye:

_Like all other spells classified under the Dark Arts, it would be worthy to note that emotions and intent play a very big part in the successful casting of the curse. You must want to really visualize and feel the effects of the spell occurring._

That was easy enough, as Harry simply have to remember his _sweet_ daydreams about what he wished to do to Dudley and his little gang. Bracing himself again, he thought of Piers Polkiss, and how he just wished to inflict so many slashes on the fat lad that all his skin would be gone.

"_Silex Vitiosus!_" Harry watched, heart pounding, as a long gleaming thread of magic flew out of his wand, whip-like, coiling in the air. It was like an ultra-flexible blade; anything that came into contact with it would receive a very nasty gash. Also, it could be wielded like a whip by the caster to inflict extremely damaging wounds repeatedly. Harry apparently had not born this in mind, as he begun to twirl the blade of magic around with no care for safety, and received a major shock when the door opened to admit Obronski, with the blade swinging towards him.

What happened next was so swift that even Harry was not sure what he saw. All he could tell was the Professor whipping out his wand faster than Harry could say, 'Whoa!', and waving it in what looked like a reverse 'S' movement. Immediately, the temperature in this compartment dropped by nearly twenty degrees as a thick translucent blue fog emerge around Obronski. Harry's magical blade actually froze a foot from the Deputy Headmaster, slowly solidifying with ice. A second later, it shattered into a billion miniscule crystals.

The change in Obronski was very visible, one moment he had been a haggard looking professor with a kindly smile, the next, he was all tensed up, clutching his wand tightly with a stony look on his face, his eyes like that of a lynx, scanning the carriage for more possible dangers. He spotted what Harry had been reading, eyes bulging as he read the title.

Obronski seemed to be torn between chiding him, or just simply confiscating the book. In the end, he did neither, but sat down beside Harry and looking very grave. "Harry, the Dark Arts is one particular branch of magic that should only be practices under very close supervision. It is very easy to become corrupted by it and do yourself harm," his eyes were stern and hard, making Harry feel like a five year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "I vill not confiscate your book, I vant you to promise me that you vill never attempt any of the spells in this and your Dark Arts textbook unless supervised by me. Can you do that?"

Feeling immensely ashamed of himself for forgetting the dangers of these curses, and guilt for nearly harming what was probably the closest he had to a kin, Harry readily agreed, shaking his head emphatically.

"Do not feel guilty, there was no harm done. That blue fog you saw was the counter-curse. Unless you have forgotten, I _am _the Dark Arts Professor", he said in mock arrogance which made Harry drop his gloomy look.

Seeming to remember what he came in for, he spoke again, this time unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "We are reaching soon, take a look for yourself."

Sure enough, a huge dark mass vaguely resembling a castle had started to come into view. They had arrived at Durmstrang.

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The next chapter will all be about Durmstrang, I promise! And now, time to seek you readers' opinions about a certain matter (though you may call it a cheap tactic to gain more reviews :D). 

**When should Harry return to England?**

A) In his third Year. Sirius would escape and enter Bulgaria to meet up with Harry, then bring him back to England.

B) In his Fourth Year. He would be reunited with Sirius in his third, but chooses to stay on in Durmstrang for his education, coming to England in his fourth to participate in the Tri-Wizard Tournament with the Durmstrang contingent.

Cast your votes people. Suggestions are more than welcome. **Review!**

Due to school re-opening, updates may be a little delayed, please bear with me here.


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